


You Regret the Things You Don't Do

by ionlyjoinedforfanfic



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Infidelity, Jealousy, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, No Connie, Oral Sex, Size Kink, Smut, Vaginal Sex, references to Christmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionlyjoinedforfanfic/pseuds/ionlyjoinedforfanfic
Summary: You and Steve have been partners for years and transferred to Colombia together. Both drawn to each other, you never can quite get together.
Relationships: Steve Murphy (Narcos)/Reader, Steve Murphy (Narcos)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set mostly in Miami, you find yourself feeling down - everything seems to be going wrong, when Steve tries to cheer you up.

“What the fuck was that Peña?" Steve's hands on his hips accentuating his already broad shoulders, looming over you both as you made your way to the Jeep.

"Just selling it," Javier returned, hitting the taller agent's chest with the back of his hand, before he walked away, Steve attention now focussed on you. You simply rolled your eyes and followed Javi.

Throwing your things into the back-seat Steve sidled up next to you, "You seriously okay with this?"

You shrugged, "He did it so we wouldn't blow our cover, it's not a big deal."

"Groping you was not part of your cover."

"Groping," you snorted, "It was a kiss, and couples kiss."

Annoyed, Steve leaned against the car, his elbow resting on the roof, his thumb and forefinger rubbing his top lip and the moustache that was there.

"I don't get why you're all bent outta shape. Javi is a good guy, a good agent." You turned your body slightly, poked a finger gently at his stomach - soft but strong. "You like him."

"I _know_ him."

"C'mon seriously. Did you ever think he did it to rile you up rather than make a move on me?"

"I'm not riled up. Javi would make a move on a fuckin' trash can if it had tits."

"Oh thanks!" you laughed.

"That's not what I meant. Just because you’re an agent and not interested doesn't mean he won't try his luck."

"Who says she's not interested?" Javier interjected, his head popping up from the other side of the vehicle. Steve shot him a deathly glance and the bird.

"You wish Pena," you scoffed. Javi puckered his lips at you then Steve, you laughed, Steve didn't - less impressed. He had taken it upon himself to be your protector in Colombia, whether it was sicarios or horny moustached colleagues. You had history, had worked together for years in Miami before transferring. At times, it was frustrating, suffocating - you wore the same badge he did but in the DEA you'd always just be a little women playing a man's game. Except you knew Steve, knew him well, knew how he blamed himself for his previous partner's death. Losing Kevin had hit you both hard and neither of you wanted that to happen again. After all, you liked to think that you watched out for him too.

You nudged him with your shoulder, lowered your voice to an almost whisper, "I appreciate you looking out for me, but you know I am a big girl. I can handle Javi."

"I bet you can princess." Javi sharp and quick and not helping. You shot him your own look, but he persisted, Steve too easy a target, "What's up Murphy not telling me you haven't been in the same situation?"

"No."

"What all the time you've known each other nothing ever happened?"

Your eyes locked on to Steve's, the blue vivid and knowing. His brows furrowed before he answered, "No. Now get in the car."

\---X---

"Cheer up it's Christmas." Steve smiled as he perched on the edge of your desk, his light blue jeans crumbling the paperwork beneath. The scowl you gave filled with burning fury, a warning to tone the festive cheer down. "C'mon it's not that bad."

"It's not that bad, are you fuckin kidding me? Three months work gone like that." You clicked your fingers in the air. "All down the fucking drain because of some pussy call." You leaned back in your chair, stared at the water stained ceiling above.

It was the first case you'd been allowed to take lead. Your plan, your contacts, your ass undercover for months, ingratiating yourself with the 'right' crowd, who introduced you to low level dealers and today supposedly the source. But all because someone said you looked familiar, the whole case had been blown. Rather than give you time to talk your way out of it - _we were in 9th grade Math together, I know your cousin Marie_ \- the full force of Miami’s DEA burst through the door before even a sniff of the source. It was fucking shambolic; it was supposed to be a way to prove your worth and now you'd be back doing grunt work and making coffee.

"Hey, it was the right call. Besides it's not over yet. Those guys in lock up, they'll roll, I'm telling you. And we wouldn't have them without you." You shrugged. "I guarantee it. Look consider the collar a Christmas present, you can even type up the report."

You gave him the middle finger and he chuckled, "Thought it was supposed to be Secret Santa."

"Oh, this is bonus. C'mon seriously today was a good day. We have more than when we started, we are all safe, and this time tomorrow we will all be very drunk on free booze." You scrunched your nose. "You're comin' right?"

"I don't know."

"Spendin' the night with David? I mean most people don't bring dates, but I don't think anyone would mind."

Your mood and voice lowered, "David already went home for the holidays."

"Oh. Everything okay?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Steve twisted his fingers near his lips sealing them up and gave a weak smile. "Y'know Bert's wife invites me and Kev so were not alone at Christmas, I'm sure she'd extend the invite. Good food, then beers and movies at mine."

"Ah tempting." you tried your best to be cheery and force a smile, Steve was being very sweet, "I'm catching a flight to my folks on the 23rd. I'm good. Thank you though. For everything."

The truth was you didn't feel like celebrating Christmas this year, it never felt Christmassy in Miami. The heat, the pink flamingos adorned with tinsel, the garish plastic trees in various shades - glittery silver, electric blue, flashy fuchsia. Nothing like the real thing. And if you could find a real tree it was bone dry and bare by the time the big day rolled around. No stockings to hang on the fire, no fireplace at all. You knew none of that stuff wasn't supposed to matter, yet it did. It did when you didn't have anything else. You just didn't feel jolly, your life currently circling down the toilet. Even going back home to your parents and the more traditional celebrations that awaited you did little to distract you from that. It wasn't just the failed bust - that had just been the icing on the burnt Christmas cookies.

Things had been off with David for a while. You thought he was the one you did, been together since college, starting careers and a life together. You thought you'd been together forever but now when it came to it, closer and closer to the ultimate commitment you were beginning to doubt yourself. A short while ago you thought he may propose at New Years, now you wouldn't be surprised if he up and left completely. And you didn't know which was worse. It wasn't that anything had happened - no big event, maybe it wasn't that you didn't know when it had happened. When his astute observations and insight felt like criticism and nagging, when his career became more important than yours because you'd have kids soon so what did it matter. That what he'd say about today - if you went to moan and vent your frustrations. Not that he was home anyway. You didn't feel important anymore. You didn't feel wanted. It was a rocky patch that's what your mom had said - all couples go through it.

You sulked for most of the next day, the perps from holding would be spending the holidays in county and though they had not said much a few weeks doing hard time and they'd have their lawyers angling for a deal. And that was something. Got you thinking that Steve had a point, maybe you should just throw yourself into everything and will some festive cheer into being.

You arrived at the office gone eight, the party in full swing. You'd like to say the decorations meant you hardly recognised the place but it was far from true. It looked as it always did, except the lights were low and gaudy, shiny garlands were strung from the ceiling and strewn slap dash over filling cabinets. There was a small tree on top of a cleared desk - someone's cast off - half the branches missing, half the lights blown, a mismatch of baubles, underneath lay the Secret Santa gifts. Nearby another cleared desk but this was loaded with booze and paper cups, a colourful and lethal looking punch in the middle. You tugged at the hem of the burgundy velvet dress you chose, suddenly it felt very short and you a little overdressed. You filled a cup with the punch, the smell clearing your nose, fruity and burning all at once and idled near the tree looking for your gift. To your surprise, you found it in its neat wrapping and delicate ribbons, opened it to reveal a set of bubble bath and fancy soap - giggled that someone had probably gotten their wife to do the shopping but you supposed it was better than anything you imagined. Scanning the room, you spotted Steve and Kevin laughing across the way, they saw you and raised their cups in greeting, Kev turned back to the conversation but Steve's gaze lingered longer, a broad smile, happy that you came. You smiled back, shrugged shoulders and rolled your eyes - _how could you resist such an amazing party_.

It was a while before Steve managed to make his way over to you - a second lot of punch and four repetitive conversations about holiday plans later. You were pouring your third cup, when Steve sidled up to you and nudged your arm.

"Looks like you’re having a good time." he chuckled.

"Oh, a blast." You turned, leaned against the makeshift bar, Steve joined you clutching a bottle of beer. "Nice tie."

Steve usual blue jeans and patterned short sleeved shirt finished off with the most garish tie - bright red, with an image of Santa in board shorts and shades.

"What you don't like it?" he said lifting it and examining it as if for the first time.

"I suppose it matches your shirt." you teased.

"Fuck you, I like this shirt. It was part of my present."

"I guessed, well hoped. Please say they got you something else."

"Sure did, a six pack."

"Classy."

You chatted for a while, Steve making you laugh. Clearly making an effort to cheer you up, you didn't mind. In fact, you appreciated the attention, Steve was good company, conversation easy and enjoyable, and all in all you were glad you came. You were interrupted by Kevin's hollering, half dancing across the floor, he'd acquired a Santa hat and beard, though he wore it under his chin.

"Come dance pretty lady." You shook your head, "C'mon Steve can't keep you himself all night. Come dance." The dance floor an undefined space in the centre of the office. He span in front of you stopping half way and shaking his butt, both you and Steve howling.

"You may need to rescue me." you giggled. Steve saluting as you followed Kev to the small crowd. A few disco classics later, a dance with Kev and Bert and the girls who manned the desk, you were happy, dizzy too! Somehow your cup never ran dry despite your constant drinking - refills aplenty you convinced yourself that life wasn't so bad after all. The music slowed and you felt a hand on your waist, looking over shoulder it was Steve, he offered a soft smile, his blue eyes twinkling in the lights.

"Can I?"

You turned and placed a hand in his, one on his shoulder, his first never leaving your side, and you began to sway. Steve's hand moved to your lower back, his long fingers splayed and pulling you a little closer, bodies nearly touching, you felt the heat of his breath as it tickled your ear, your neck. Warm and fuzzy, safe in his strong arms and wanted - for the first time in a long time you felt wanted. So, when someone meandered the dancefloor holding mistletoe and dangled it above you didn't think twice before pressing lips to his. The kiss more than an innocent peck, lasted longer than the passing of the mistletoe baring cupid-elf and when you moved away you smirked, Steve didn't return a smile instead he searched your face, or himself, for something, whatever he found made him lean to you once again. His mouth hit yours, this time slightly open, taste of beer and cigarettes, his tongue pushed forward, and you accepted it. Soft, gentle, dizzying. You moved your arms, tightened them around his neck, deepened the kiss, forgot for a moment where you were. Steve broke away and grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the crowd. You followed him, realised where he was heading. He opened the storeroom, crammed with rows of metal shelving units, filled with boxes of files and old paperwork. He pulled you inside before shutting the door, tugging your arm practically out of the socket till you were in the middle of the room, amongst the shelves and hidden from sight. He placed his large hands on your hips, his forehead next to yours as he pushed you against the shelves, his eyes filled with longing but still cautiously searching - he looked so handsome and you felt so good, desire brimming, caught up by the moment and yearning for Steve's lips again. This time, you reached for him, it was all he needed. Steve back kissing you, sloppy and ardent, his hand quickly from your waist, cupping your neck, holding you closer. You didn't know how long you'd been there, lost in a dream, though eventually Steve's hands and mouth began to roam - kisses down to neck, hand skimming across body. You tangled your fingers in his soft blond hair as his reached beneath the hem of your dress, his hand gripping the flesh he found there, eliciting a moan.

Steve lowered himself to the ground, kneeling before you, his eyes locked on yours. Once settled, he pulled at the waistband of your panties, slowly dragged them down, never once breaking your gaze, only when you were free from them did he make to move. Placing kisses to your inner thigh close to your knee, slowly beginning his ascent, the brush from his nose, graze of his facial hair, trail from the tip of his tongue sending spiralling upwards towards the heavens. The skirt of dress hitched up as he finally reached the apex of your legs, you called out to him as he did, your lusty cries spurring him on, his tentative movements now fervent. Like a man starved, he devoured you, lapping and slurping as you dripped with desire. He raised your legs, so they rested on his shoulders, your weight braced against the shelves behind you in order to delve deeper, you tugging at his locks wanting him too. Drunk on alcohol and lust - Steve's movements were chaotic, any skill abandoned but the pure intensity and enthusiasm was exhilarating, you were quickly climbing to dizzy heights, passion coiling at your core. There was nothing you wanted more at that moment, no one you wanted more. Had you always liked Steve? Had he always liked you? He had always paid attention to you, listened when you spoke, invited you to hang out but he had never made a move - the punch and mistletoe had been the fuse. But of course he'd never tried anything before now, he thought you were attached, and Steve was a Southern gentleman. Yet you were attached still. David distance - physically, emotionally - but you were together. Guilt sobering, dampening desires - this wasn't fair, wasn't fair on either of them.

"Steve. Stop. Stop." It took a moment, lost in his own enjoyment but with the change in tone and push from your hand, Steve released his latch on your clit, his blue eyes looking back up at you once more.

"You okay?" Panting, his hands still on the round of your ass.

"I can't...I just...David we're not...I don't know but we're..."

Deflated but polite he asked, "You want me to finish?" You shook your head, saw disappointment as he let out a long sigh, his face still inches from your cunt.

"I want to...I do...just I'm not...I can't."

Lowering your leg from his shoulder, Steve supported you till you were firmly on your feet, gathered your underwear, passed them over as he stood, his eyes down.

"Asshole shouldn't left you at Christmas." 

"It's complicated and not really excuse to y'know...I'm sorry...I shouldn't have let it go this far."

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry." Tentatively, you touched his arm, he let you. A sombre silence hanging between you, though he soon broke it. His voice a hiss rather than the sweet Southern drawl you were used to.

"What about Sandy's birthday party or bowling?"

"Excuse me?" But you knew what he was referring too - you and David had argued the night of Sandy's birthday, you had showed up but fought back tears all night. When you arranged bowling with guys, all decided to bring dates, David had bailed last minute, and you only found out after you called him. You made excuses - _working late_ \- but he didn't care. Steve drove you home to make sure you got back safe. And there were countless stories like that.

"He treats you like shit."

"Steve it's not really your business."

He glared down at you, fire in his eyes fuelled by anger rather than desire, "It is my business when I..." he cut himself off, anger died as he saw tears prick your eyes. "When you get me involved." He sighed deeply, "You okay?"

You nodded, your arms hugging your body, "Are we okay?" you asked quietly, suddenly had a sinking feeling that you were not only on verge of losing a boyfriend but now a good friend and partner. Steve dragged his hand down his face, rubbed his moustache between his thumb and forefinger.

"Yeah. Yeah we are." He tried his best to smile, still doing what he could to cheer you up. "Too much beer. Nothing happened."

"Yeah?"

Twisted his fingers to seal his lips shut, "Don't worry about it."


	2. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You haven't seen your partner Steve for a week and you've missed him. He has missed you too. Will either of you have the courage to say anything?

He was a beacon welcoming you home, though his face was turned away, there was no mistaking it was Steve. His tall frame topped with blond locks towered above most others.

You were drained from the flight and frustrated that yours was the last of the luggage to appear on the carousel. You just wanted to be in your apartment and fall into bed. Your weeklong vacation not as refreshing as you had hoped. However, once you saw him leaning against the wall in the arrival lounge you smiled, your heart swelling in your chest. He was wearing his favourite tan leather jacket, the collar up against his dark shirt, blowing smoke in the air before flicking ash into the silver tray atop of a trashcan he'd chosen to stand by. You hadn't allowed yourself to admit it, but you had secretly hoped he would come.

You made your way closer though you didn't call out, taking a moment to contemplate the man before you - kind, and funny, and handsome, your best friend, who had without a doubt put in 12 hour plus shift fuelled only on caffeine and cigarettes before venturing out at two in the morning to collect you from Bogota International.

His blue eyes scanned the terminal, eventually looked your way, a broad smile his instant reaction. Stumping out his cigarette he came to you, opening his arms. You dropped your bags, echoed his actions, soon enclosed in his long limbs. You felt welcomed, wanted. Your arms wrapped around his waist, underneath his jacket, buried in the warmth, comforted by the softness which covered the strength of Steve's muscles beneath, resting your head on his chest you let out a deep and very contented sigh, "You came."

"Sure did."

That's all that you said for minutes. Neither of you moved, neither one pulled away. Just stood, holding each other. You pressed your nose into his shirt, smelled his smell - the spicy cologne, the smoky leather. His face pressed against your hair and you wondered if he was doing the same. Your arms squeezed tighter as if he'd vanish the moment you let go. He only pulled you closer.

You were happy, you were home.

\---X---

"So how was it stateside?" Steve asked as he signalled out of the parking lot.

"Fine," you sighed.

"Fine? The wedding no good?"

"Yeah. Yes. The wedding was beautiful." You'd organised your week's leave to coincide with your cousin's ceremony, which at the time seemed like a great idea, and perfect reason to go. "Good way to see everyone. Efficient."

Steve pursed his lips, furrowed his brow as he nodded, echoed your words back to you, "Efficient." His glance switching between you and the road ahead.

Your head was back on the rest, your eyes fixed on the window, looking out to the Colombian night, watched the amber streetlamps streak as Steve's Jeep sped past. It was warm and quiet and the air itself tasted of the foreign land that had been your home for the best part of a year. It had felt longer than a week since you'd been gone yet sat next to Steve in the worn seat it felt like no time at all.

"Hey," Steve called, your stare locking with his blue eyes. "You okay?"

You shrugged and smiled, "Yeah just tired."

"That it?"

"Uh huh, why?"

"I don't know maybe the fact you keep groaning or maybe ‘cos best you can describe your family get together is efficient."

You laughed and rolled your eyes, trying to throw him off but this was Steve, he'd been you partner for years and he knew you too well.

"It's nothing." He raised his brows with incredulity. You didn't want to tell him. You'd decided not to. Yet sat here, with a swell of emotions bubbling over, and a good friend begging you to spill, it was too compelling, and you needed to vent. "Okay. But it is not a big thing. It's not. Just my mom would not let it drop."

"What? The fuckin' suspense is killin’ me." he chuckled.

"David is getting married."

Steve's jaw clenched. The car an instant vacuum as if air and noise were sucked from it by the mere mention of his name. You shouldn't have said anything. Your ex was not well liked by Steve and an unspoken agreement made long ago meant you didn't discuss him. The last few months of your relationship (when it was very clear what Steve feelings towards David were and when you were confused about your own), you didn't speak about him. You didn't speak about him when you finally broke up. Steve heard through Kev - he had brought you a muffin with your coffee the whole week after, let you win at bowling. Then Kev died and you both rushed off to Colombia, your mind filled with other more important things, there was no need to bring him up. To bring other things up. You stared at Steve, trying to read his expression.

"I don't care." you affirmed; Steve offered a slow nod. "I mean I do but not about him. It is good he's moved on, he's _nothing_ to me."

Steve remained mute, you continued digging not really sure of who you were trying to convince and of what. "Just y'know my mom going on and on about it should have been me. How I should be married."

"What married and miserable?" he scoffed.

"Exactly." You were happy he was talking; happy he saw your side. "It’s just she thinks I'm wasting my life."

"Do you?"

"No." Your response instant, assured. "It's just...god this makes me sound like a bitch. I just wish he wasn't happy first. I just wanted him to suffer. A little."

"That right?"

"Only a little." You couldn't hide the smirk that played at your lips. "Maybe not all of him. Just y'know something he loves. Like his car…or those fucking golf clubs or or…something unfortunate to his penis."

Steve snorted, "What?"

"Yeah," you sniggered. "Not like fall off or get mangled or anything y'know just a little itchy or source of embarrassment for a while."

"Beware a woman scorned." Steve laughed too, purposely squirmed in his seat and breaking the tension between you. "You know when we catch Escobar, you can brag and throw it in their faces."

"Hmm I guess. Sometimes feels like we never will though." Steve let out his own sigh as he nodded. You fell back into silence, both focused on the journey. You stayed quiet when he pulled up to the apartment building, quite as you climbed the stairs, Steve carrying your case. It was only once your door was unlocked and opened did you turn and speak, "Thank you for coming to get me."

Steve combed his hand through his sandy hair, "You'd do it for me."

You shrugged your shoulders, "You're a good friend," you smiled giving a playful jab to his arm. Steve's didn't return your smile, his jaw tightening once more. "I mean it." You left after pressing an appreciative kiss to his cheek. "Owe you breakfast." you called out, backing into your apartment.

\---X---

You collapsed on your bed, your luggage abandoned in the hall. You scrambled for a big comfy tee that was a favourite to sleep in and tried to rest. Your body and mind exhausted but you couldn't sleep, playing your conversation with Steve over and over.

You'd been so happy when you saw him waiting for you, you'd missed him so much. You should have told him. Not moaned about your mother, not moaned about David. Why do that? Well, you knew why, but before that you could have told him, instead the moment had been lost.

You should have told him that one of the reasons that you didn't enjoy your trip wasn't just your mother and her criticism of wasting your life and how DEA was no place for a woman, it was that he wasn't there. Steve was the first person you'd speak to in the morning, the last at night. You missed the bad jokes and stupid polo shirts, fidgeting hands and the southern drawl. You missed all of him. And you couldn't wait to get back.

You should have told him that.

In spite of your attempts to sabotage your rest, your eyes were heavy, and sleep was going to win out. You finally dozed off though you dreamt of Steve - of his smile, his tan brown jacket, his voice, his lips, the tickle of his moustache, of Christmas lights and the smell of musty paper.

\---X---

Steve stood and stared at the closed door of your apartment for a good few minutes. Just stood and stared. Confused. Disappointed. He wasn't sure what had happened, he ran the events of the past hour over and over in his head. How had it gone so wrong? He had a plan. He had laid it all out, rehearsed it in the safety of his mind - over and over - he was confident it would work. It was a good plan. A simple plan. Yet he failed. You were home safe in your apartment, but he was outside, he was supposed to be in there with you, or at least on a promise he would be. Sure, you'd offered a breakfast but only as a thank you for a friend. A fucking friend.

Finally, though no more enlightened, he moved down the hall to his own apartment, opened the door and entered alone as always. And like always he grabbed a beer from the fridge, swallowed the cold bitter liquid and regret. Plonked himself on the couch and furrowed his brow, scrutinised the events once more. Maybe it was his cop's brain. Maybe he liked to torture himself. The plan was easy, it should have been plain sailing.

  1. Meet you at the airport.
  2. Tell you how he felt.



It was going well, the look on your face when you had realised he had come to collect you. A true and beautiful smile which touched your eyes. Then the hug. The way you instantly came to his arms, the way you buried your head into his chest, arms tightened around him. For so long. As if you would never let him go. He didn't want you to let go. He had let himself believe you had missed him like he had missed you. That you'd pined for him whilst you were at your folks. God knows he pined for you. Then he had to ask about your trip - he should have just said he missed you. But he delayed it, too fucking chicken shit, and then _his_ name. Hell, he doubted even Escobar could kill the mood quicker. You split with David what over a year ago, two? And the asshole was still getting in the way. Steve growled in anger, his grip tightened on the neck of the beer bottle the glass bruising his lips as he took another swig. He needed a whiskey. He jumped to grab the bottle from the counter, there was a glass nearby, he blew out the dust or whatever, before pouring a full measure. It burned as he swallowed. He should have brought flowers. Shit he should have just kissed you. But he had missed his chance once again and then like a goddam kick in the balls you called him your friend. And that's what he'd always be to you - a fucking friend.

Steve had been counting the days till you returned. It hadn't gone unnoticed, Javier annoyed at his sulking. At first the other agent thought it was comical, offered quips about Steve's schoolboy crush between smokes and case files and not to worry you'd be back soon. By the end of the week Javi was ready to throttle him, why couldn't he just be a fucking man and ask you out! Steve had always objected when Javi commented on the basis of your relationship, denied any feelings beyond friendship, though he knew Javi suspected something more - a wink, joke, purposely flirting with you to piss him off, but Steve had been so forlorn, so fucking distracted and you didn't need to be a genius to figure out why. He was a lovesick teenager with you away, not that those feelings were new but his yearning was somehow kept in check when you were close by. When he saw you daily, heard your laugh, close enough to smell your perfume and that fruity shampoo you used, you spent so much time in each other's company that he knew there was no one else in your life. And although he didn't have you, knowing no one else did was somewhat comforting.

A week away hadn't changed how he felt, just made him realise that Javi was right - he had it bad and he needed to do something. Going on like this was too torturous, eventually you'd meet someone and his chance would be dead and buried. Not that he hadn't been here before, back in Miami, Kev had known everything, Steve had been more open with his partner back then. Kev had been the one to encourage him to make a move. Steve unsure, not wanting to get involved with anyone who was attached, and David and you were serious and long term though you never seemed very happy together. So when he saw the opportunity, he had taken it but god it blew back in his face and it had taken so very long to get back to a place he felt he could try again, or to a point that there was no other choice. Besides Steve genuinely thought you'd be ready, willing. And then his name like some spectre from the past killed his plan dead.

Steve took the last gulp of his whiskey, before he settled the glass down and lolled back on the sofa. Why did he do this to himself? Well, he knew why, because he longed to hold you and kiss you. He had a taste and wanted more, his dreams no longer enough yet they would have to sustain him still. He dreamed about your soft, plump lips and the feel of them against his own. Dreams summoned memories and mixed with fantasy in the bubbling cauldron that was his mind. Soon recalling his mouth travelling down your body, the sweet taste of your core and your spellbinding moans as he worked at your clit. The memories as vivid as if it happened yesterday and now, like then, his cock stiffened and strained in his jeans. He needed a release and seeing only one option he unbuckled his belt, undid his fly, and pulled out his cock. Soon he was stroking himself, fantasy taking charge it was your small hands he imagined encircling his girth, moving up and down. He closed his eyes trying to conjure clearer images of you, in his dreams you were positioned between his legs, kneeling on the floor smiling up at him. A mischievous smile as you worked his cock in your hands, your tongue slipped out and you licked the tip, sending a shiver through him, you offered up little kitten licks, mewling and looking up at him through lashes. In his dreams you teased him. You needed him to tell you what he wanted but in his dreams he was brave, assertive - he tangled his long fingers in your hair and pushed you down on his dick, commanding you to suck. Steve's own grip tightened at the thought of it, but he needed more, needed to think about his dick buried inside of you. He had imagined taking you so many ways and his mind couldn't settle - would you climb up on his lap, or would he flip you over and fuck you hard from behind? Instead, his mind switched back to earlier, outside your apartment, he didn't leave, instead he pushed you forward and took you up against the door, your leg up at his hip, the de-robing part conveniently skipped. His pace intensified as he imagined burying himself in you, the door rattling as he did or files of the paper falling as he fucked you against the shelves in the storeroom - his fantasy rewriting history, over and over. It didn't matter where you were, Steve just trying to think about how your pussy would feel around his cock as you came, the warmth, the tightness and eventually he stiffened and throbbed in his own hand, ropes of cum spilled out onto him. He wiped a large glob off, before venturing to the bathroom and cleaning himself with a cloth. Steve was exhausted and though not satisfied, the beast that was his desire had been fed, so he stripped down, climbed into bed. Alone as always.


End file.
